


Launch

by InediblePeriwinkle



Series: In Orbit Series [1]
Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Toppat King Ending | TK (Henry Stickmin), With Edits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InediblePeriwinkle/pseuds/InediblePeriwinkle
Summary: Coming to after a failed mission, Charles Calvin realizes he's been taking prisoner by the enemy. In the midst of trying to escape, he comes across a familiar face he hasn't seen a good while. Henry Stickmin is now Toppat King, but the guy is nearly unrecognizable in his new role.
Relationships: Charles Calvin/Henry Stickmin
Series: In Orbit Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995499
Comments: 8
Kudos: 171





	Launch

Consciousness did not come slowly. 

Charles jerked awake, staring at a dirtied metal wall, limbs pulled behind him and numb. He blinked against the light searing his eyes, mind stuttering as it came back online. 

He remembered impact. Something had jammed in his rotors and they went down. Someone purposely targeted the helicopter. Had he bailed in time? He was still alive. 

Charles shifted, limbs tingling, and pain shot up his left shoulder. 

He grit his teeth, finding that hurt, too, sent pain into his right eye socket, and the skin on his arms and hands felt pulled tight. Burns, had to be, but he couldn’t check to see how bad it was. He was confined. 

Confined, and by something high-tech. Charles took a bleary look around the cell, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. 

The walls were filthy, a drain in the floor and little else. A reinforced wall with no slot or sliding bar. Looked like it might be controlled digitally. The air tasted weirdly clean, though, all sterile and slightly chemical. Like a hospital. 

Charles licked his chapped lips. They had been searching for that Toppat base…had they found it? That had to be where he was. 

Stupid. He’d been distracted, petty, like an unprofessional loser of a guy and not a trained pilot serving in special ops. Hadn’t been on his best game he knew it, he _knew it_ and look what it got him. If something had happened to his squad, if he died out here, that was solely on him. This was on him and he had to get out of it, quick. 

Charles could feel more, now, his jacket was stuck to his right arm oddly and his hands were twitching. He felt thirsty, he was sweating, his face hurt and he was getting tired. Probably not a good idea for a nap, in an enemy base and with goodness knows what wrong with him. He was fucking lucky he hadn’t died, being out that long. 

God, the room was so empty. Charles twisted his wrists, trying to feel what was holding him. Not handcuffs. He tugged his hands apart, squinting up at the ceiling. Not zip ties. It seemed to be digital as well, it buzzed softly against his skin like an old-fashioned tv. 

He twisted his right wrist again, ignoring the pain. He’d just use the same method for escaping handcuffs, utilizing his double-jointed thumbs to slip the bond. 

He slowly worked his hand free, and whatever it was confining him it snapped hard onto the other hand, a flash of heat burning already-seared skin. 

Charles clamped his teeth down on his tongue, head slamming back against the wall as he tried not to scream. He tasted blood, whole body twitching and eyes stinging as he gasped in a breath. Oh god, that fucking hurt. 

He brought his shaking hands up, wincing at the visible burns. Oh yeah, he’d gotten caught in whatever blast had happened in the crash. For sure. He couldn’t really feel his fingers, which he’d worry about later. 

Right now, he was curious about whatever it was sticking to his left wrist. It glowed a sickly green, metal and clear tube creating something he’d never seen before. Had the Toppats gotten into new tech? 

Charles grunted as he hauled himself to his feet, staggering slightly as he sucked in another breath through teeth. He reached for the door, pressing a damaged palm against its cool surface. He was still sweating, hand sliding against metal as he crouched down next to it. 

No visible hinges. He skimmed his fingers around the edges, pressing, feeling no give in the metal or gaps in the seal. 

He still tasted blood and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before standing up again. Okay. So he wasn’t going to be able to dismantle it, he didn’t have the know how on how it worked to damage it, he’d have to-

It opened, suddenly, to a smaller man a bit younger than him, wearing a ragged hat and a suddenly frantic expression. 

He was a quick draw, but Charles was quicker. 

The pilot grabbed the kid’s right hand with his own left, pulling his arm across Charles’ body and elbowing the Toppat in the face, taking the gun as he dropped it and darting out the door. 

“Hey! You asshole!” A woman with shaggy blond hair shouted after him from down the hallway and he took the other route. 

This gun wasn’t loaded. Charles looked at it in disgust before tossing it, scrambling to think as alarms started to flash up by the metal ceilings, silent bursts of light shooting down the hallway corners bright red and frantic. 

His boots were loud, he raced down the hallway with his body going numb from adrenaline, knowing that if anyone took a single good shot this was it. 

A young redhead man came barreling around the corner and Charles ducked around him. The other grabbed his jacket and the pilot shrugged it off. 

The coat was ripped away and took a layer of skin with it. 

Charles’ eyes watered as the fabric stuck to burned flesh peeled away but didn’t stop. He needed to find an exit point, some way of freedom, once he got outside he could find a way to contact his superiors and find the rest of his squadron. 

The lights kept flashing, a silent, frightening reminder that he was already caught, already-

The redhead had caught up with him, tackling him by his legs. Charles went down and rolled, tried to get his legs free, the other guy grabbing his gun. 

Charles locked his fingers around his wrist, holding it out. The guy was faster than the last, but Charles was decently strong. He kicked the guy in the nose, gun slipping between both of their fingers, and he didn’t stop to try and pick it up. He could hear more behind them. Catching up. 

Charles tried to scramble up, nearly fell, staggering back to his feet and taking the left corridor onward. 

His body was starting to shake. Charles’ breaths came in ragged huffs. He needed an alternative. 

His eyes swept the hallway, noting the vents on either side. 

If he tried it, and they saw, he’d be easy to kill. His hands were shaking from strain, the floor was tilting, and Charles took that risk. 

He dove in, gathering his long legs into the blocky tunnel, turning around and holding still. Holding his breath. 

He covered the glowing restraint still on a wrist with his hand, feeling it burn against his tender skin. His arm was twitching, shivers running up his spine. At least he’d stopped sweating. 

He could see boots dart past the grate, not pausing, people shouting orders to one another. And then, blissfully, more silence. 

Charles slowly rested his head back against the ground, exhaling, closing his eyes. 

Okay. Okay. He was safe for now. Until someone checked the cameras. 

Charles licked his chapped lips, squinting down the vent’s corridor. 

Wriggling onto his stomach, he started to crawl, pain shooting up his legs now and residing in his arms. 

He was probably hurt more than he thought, but that had to take a backseat. Charles swallowed past the pain, down, setting his expression into grim determination. He had a job to do. He could worry about that later. 

He had to get out alive. 

His squadron still needed him, and all of this was his fault. And- well, Konrad had broken up with _him_ , yeah, it led to them placing Calvin on his squad messing with Charles’ emotions but that wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. He should have spoken up when he realized he was emotionally compromised instead of trying to pretend it hadn’t bothered him. Look where that led him. Possibly about to die in a Toppat base. 

His family would miss him. While he’d prepared his grandparents for this call when he first took up Special Ops work, he hadn’t really talked about it since. It might blindside them, their grandson they’d raised as their own child, killed in action on enemy ground. 

While that might be honorable, Charles would die knowing he put himself in this position. He couldn’t die like that. 

His vision was spotting. That couldn’t be good. He couldn’t take in a full breath, was that it? He was suffocating in the vents? 

He paused by a grate opening, hoping the open air would allow him to take in a deep breath and give him the…give him the…

Charles’ train of thought slowed, then hit the brakes screeching. 

He pressed his face against the grate, heart sinking thousands of miles down to the ground. 

Down to the Earth. 

Charles had never seen the planet as a whole with his own eyes. He’d poured over NatGeo pictures as a grade schooler, tracing the way the clouds and earth and sea swirled into a piece of art, a green and blue orb floating in space, containing pulsing life on its surface. 

And here it was before him, settled in a sparkling sea of stars, so vivid it felt like Charles could touch it from here, feel the cool seas and mossy forests as a giant with a planet between his fingers. 

He was in space. 

The Toppat Base. 

The Orbital Space Station. 

They’d taken him to space. 

He was in space. 

Alone. 

Staring at his home planet down below. 

Charles wasn’t proud at how that shook him. His heart had all but stopped, an icy chill taking to his veins. His planning, frantic brain had stopped thinking linearly and was circling wildly. He pressed his hands against the grate, clenching it between his fingers like a prisoner in a cell. 

The Orbital Base. He knew it was trouble. Had been briefed all about it and now… 

Charles’ fuzzy, foggy brain took in the tilting floor below, how it suddenly seemed to get much closer all of a sudden. 

The ace pilot’s face bounced off a desk on his way down and he didn’t even feel it. 

Oh. Was he dying, actually? Charles stared up at the whirling ceiling, could see the wide windows behind him barely in his vision, tiled ceiling and fluorescent lighting searing into his brain. 

Someone stepped into his vision and Charles struggled, sluggish body not responding to his frantic orders to grab their legs, take them down, run. 

He stared blearily up into a surprised face, a familiarity tugging at his memory immediately. Then, horror. 

Henry Stickmin, Toppat King, decked in navy blue and glittering gold, stared down at Charles like he was a ghost. 

He reached for him, and that finally jumpstarted Charles’ brain again. 

He hauled himself up in a single move and nearly vomited. The shining ground seemed to plummet from under him, sending his legs shaking as the muscles gave out immediately. 

He was caught, against a thin but muscled chest, layers of expensive material covering wiry arms that held Charles carefully. Lowered him slowly. 

His vision was still swimming, he relied on touch to tell him everything now, felt himself be settled down carefully as if he’d been made of porcelain. Felt a hand on his chest, garbled words spoken in a quiet voice had hadn’t heard in over a year. 

Over a year, right? The airship mission had been a long time ago. 

Someone pushed his curls off his forehead in a gesture so tender that it made him jolt. 

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, opening them and squinting up at the man. 

Henry looked different. He wasn’t so thin, face so sunken, and he’d grown a neat beard, his hair was carefully styled. 

He also looked incredibly worried, which didn’t fit because while his jacket was gone he was clearly a military man, his uniform to the kind of boots he wore. 

He could see every rise of his well-fitted chest, eyes raking over his slim waist where he crouched next to Charles. Yeah, alright, he’d thought he was attractive when he first met him, was this really going to be his last thought? 

Shouldn’t this guy be shooting him in the face right now?

More people filed in. Charles jerked his gaze over, at a woman with bright red hair and black-and-purple uniform. 

Ellie Rose, the Right Hand Lady. Stickmin’s enforcer, a clever and brutal woman with a history of thievery and arson. 

The blond behind her was not familiar to him, but she wore tinted glasses and a white coat. 

“You’re right,” The woman spoke in an accent to Henry, a gentle voice, “He does not look good.” 

What was happening. Charles froze, blue screening, as the woman came and knelt by him without harming him. The Rose stood behind them both, arms crossed, watching Charles in a way that promised death if he so much as moved the wrong way. 

“Henry, I’m not really this kind of doctor,” The blond was taking his pulse, “But I do work with severe cases.” 

“I know,” The Toppat King said. “You were closest.” 

“Mm,” The woman moved her finger across Charles’ vision, expression unreadable. “I am pretty sure he’s going into distributive, possibly hypovolemic shock. We need to get him into the med wing and get attention on him.” 

What. Charles was only getting more confused, warily watching Ellie Rose, gaze flicking to Henry every few seconds. Treating him? For what possible reason?

He kept his mouth shut, willing to bet he’d learn more by being quiet than demanding answers. 

“Can you call?” Stickmin asked the doctor, “Let them know we’re coming.” 

The woman nodded, helped to her feet by The Rose, and left Charles’ line of sight. 

The Rose stayed where she was. 

“He’s still awake, Henry,” She said, leveling eyes with Charles, “He’s listening.” 

“I know.” 

He did? Charles looked over at him, meeting his dark gaze directly. 

His heart jumped and he shifted feebly, unable to rip away from the look on his face. 

Stickmin. He’d taken over, had become Toppat King, had raised the organization to more notoriety. They’d launched the base with hardly any trouble, with Charles watching helplessly from the ground below, and had been a thorn in his side ever since. 

Had raged heists across the country, had built up some kind of a buying clientele that spread the world, had gotten harder to track than ever and several times more dangerous.

And now, Stickmin, Toppat King, had a hand on his shoulder and was watching him contemplatively. 

“Med bay is sending people over now,” The blonde woman called over the room, voice wobbling in a warped sort of way. 

“Cancel the alerts,” Stickmin was saying to his Right Hand Lady, “Find out who put him in-”

As quickly as consciousness had come to Charles, it left him. Quick enough that he thought maybe he’d died just then, been shot from behind or body had just given out. 

But if he could think that, he wasn’t dead, right? 

Charles had been rushed to hospitals before. He had scars riddled over his body, had more surgeries than someone still on the field should have gone through, he knew what being on a gurney being pushed into a room felt like. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know. 

He was mostly aware but afraid of answering any questions from Toppats. He didn’t even tell them his name, something he was allowed to say, because he was out of it and didn’t trust himself to keep his mouth shut. 

He stared at a man who hooked an IV into his arm. God knows what was in it, what they’d end up doing…

Hey, where were his clothes? He was wearing a stupid cotton gown like in actual hospitals-

This looked like an actual hospital, actually. Was he in a hospital? 

Why would he be in a hospital Toppat? A Toppat hospital, rather, did they have hospitals in space? Space-hospitals? 

Well it was a long way to Earth, they had to, didn’t they? Was he still on the Orbital Station? Had he dreamed that part up?

“I’m still in space,” He remembered asking whoever was standing closest to him, “Right?” 

“Yes,” They said, smoothing back his hair, and Charles had melted into the touch and gone under again. 

He felt sluggish when he next opened his eyes, but far more alert. He could taste salt on his tongue instead of blood, smelled antiseptic, smacking away the chemical taste in his mouth. 

Everything still hurt. Charles winced at the rub of his tender skin against the sheets.

“Fuck,” He groaned, and someone snorted. 

Stickmin was sitting in a nearby chair, ankle crossed over knee and a tablet in his lap. He was still dressed smartly but without the jacket, just a slimming vest over tight trousers and knee-high boots. 

He had heels. On his boots. 

Charles stared at the slender heels, gaze drifting up an ankle, the curve of muscle under shining leather. Wiry thighs, a fitted waist, a broad chest up to a cut jawline. 

Dear fucking Christ. 

Stickmin was smirking at him, dark eyes sparkling, fingers glittering in golden rings. 

“You look better,” The Toppat King told him, “Are you going to stay awake this time?” 

His voice sounded different than he remembered. More lazy, less tense and short. Warmer. 

“Am I still on the Orbital Station?” Charles asked him, trying to keep his tone neutral. 

“Yes,” The Leader told him. “It hasn’t been that long.” 

Charles surveyed the bandages on his hand. The restraint on his wrist was gone. He still had an IV drip in his arm. He eyed it suspiciously. 

“Just saline,” Stickmin assured him, “And something for the shock.” 

“What?” The pilot asked. 

Stickmin shrugged. 

“Great,” Charles shifted, gritting his teeth, “Hope you guys picked something I’m not allergic to.” 

“You’re not,” The Toppat King said with startling confidence. “It’s nothing strong. Did you want it to be?” 

Charles was hooked up to a lot of stuff. He couldn’t escape the room without causing some damage to himself. He looked over at the King again, who was watching still with interest. 

“How do you know what I’m allergic to?” Charles hadn’t had a ton of conversations with the guy before he turned Toppat, and he didn’t remember causally mentioning allergens. “My files are sealed.” 

Henry smiled. 

“Not very well.” 

Well wasn’t that a comfort. Charles exhaled, picking at the dressing on his hand. Stickmin scowled at him for the first time. 

“If you’ve seen my files,” The pilot began cautiously, “You know my name-”

“Charles,” The Leader’s voice softened. “I remember.” 

His mouth snapped shut. 

He’d knew something had been wrong, back in the airship mission, and had mentioned it to Captain G and was brushed off. Henry had turned on them, joined the Toppats, and made the Captain and Charles look like fools. He’d popped up here and there since, but never face to face, and Charles wouldn’t have even considered the idea that Henry _remembered_ him. 

Enemy number one watched him with a frighteningly tender expression regardless, sat next to his hospital bed like he had any right to be there. 

Charles couldn’t think of a single word to say, chatty and rambling as he was, nothing was coming to his lips. 

“How did you get burned?” Henry questioned. 

“Crash,” Charles didn’t elaborate. “My squadron-”

“You’re the only one they picked up,” The Toppat King interrupted. “I checked.” 

So he wouldn’t know. Weirdly enough, Charles believed him. Henry looked cautious, uncomfortable, arms crossed and expression concerned, and that was putting him off his guard whether it was designed to or not. 

“You have to stay a couple days,” The Leader’s ankle shifted on his knee, “They said your injuries were bad. But I’ll be going to Canada in three days for a base check. If I drop you off, can you get across the border?” 

He didn’t remember Henry ever talking this much. Charles swallowed, tasting saline, staring over at the marked enemy like he was insane. Maybe he was. Maybe Charles was. 

“Why?” He asked, finally, unable to keep the stupid question back. 

Stickmin tilted his head, a sharp smirk curving his lips. 

He stood, and Charles pushed himself up on an elbow. 

“Don’t,” Henry made a settling motion. 

He deftly picked up Charles’ broken headset from the table beside them, settling it on the sheets, braced against Charles’ hip. Like it was an answer. 

What kind of answer? Charles narrowed his eyes, trying to see it in Henry’s face, read it between the calm and collected expression. 

Nothing came to him or suddenly sprang into his brain. Just more confusion, and now the guy was even closer, still tracing the curve of his headset. 

Something about that bothered Charles. He reached his hand out, curling his stiff fingers around his hand, pulled it away, and just…lingered. 

Henry’s thumb traced a line of the bandages, so gently he could barely feel it. Charles swallowed, staring up at the tall man now leaning over his bedside. 

Light glinted off his gold accents, the jewels on his hands and in his ears, raining down over Charles’ stark white bedsheets. 

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this,” He blurted out, “Housing a captured enemy?” 

Stickmin’s smirk grew, manic and dark. 

“I’m the Toppat King,” He said, eyes glinting under the brim of his hat. His fingers twined warmly with Charles’. “No one to answer to.” 

He doubted that was true, but that raised a whole extra problem, here. 

“I’m here to stop you,” He said in what he hoped was a cool and detached manner, their intertwined fingers aside, “You know that, Henry.” 

Something passed over his face, oddly, and the grip on his hand got a little looser. 

Charles pressed his thumb against his fingers, unsure why he didn’t want Henry to let go. 

The King recovered quickly. 

“Well, go ahead.” The man was smiling again, sharp and devious. “Stop me. Right now.” 

He could take his hand away. Charles didn’t move. 

“You’re on my base,” Henry’s thumb lazily traced over his lower palm, his wrist, “Go ahead. What are you going to do?”

He should be pissed he was goading him like this. Charles wasn’t. His mouth was so dry. 

“I could,” He managed. 

“I know.” 

He knew. Just like Charles did. Both of them could destroy the other, given the chance. And honestly, it was there. They were inches apart, Charles with the strength and training to take down men his size or larger, Henry with the entire Toppat Clan at his beck and call. 

And neither of them moved, aside from shifting fingers nervously carving out new boundaries within the circle of their hands. 

Henry looked so much better than he had when he’d been dragged unconscious onto Charles’ helicopter. His skin had lost the sickly greyness, the sunken look, the sullen expression. 

This Henry wore shades of blues, golds, his skin was vibrant and his eyes sparkled with lively mischief. He smiled at Charles with his whole face, spoke to him like they were old friends, not sworn enemies. 

He looked happy, and he wasn’t taking his hand away. 

Charles swallowed, again, too afraid of breaking this strange atmosphere to ask for a drink. 

“Stay.” Henry asked him, leaning his hip against the edge of the bed, a single word without elaborating. 

Charles couldn’t work up a response. He squeezed Henry’s fingers, instead, staring up into his face. 

Henry applied a gentle pressure back, mindful of his injuries.


End file.
